


Side Effects May Vary

by LittleRukia



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Aphrodisiacs, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Don't Judge Me., F/F, F/M, Femdom, Femslash, Futanari, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Pegging, Sex Magic, Shameless Smut, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism, magic futa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 07:15:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16012961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleRukia/pseuds/LittleRukia
Summary: When Robin comes down with a stomach bug, she finds herself curled up in bed and praying for it to be over. It keeps her from the critical planning phases of an upcoming siege on a Valm stronghold and she wants nothing more than to join her husband and the Feroxian generals in their efforts. When Tharja appears seeming concerned and offering to soothe what ails her, Robin is rightfully suspicious but with such an important battle ahead, she's not certain that whatever side effects Tharja's medicine will have are worse than being unprepared for battle. Against her better judgment, she accepts the dark mage's help.Meanwhile, in the Khan's tent, Flavia and Basilio butt heads over the best strategy to implement while Chrom tries fruitlessly to make peace between them. When ego and bullheaded sarcasm reign supreme, Flavia decides to take matters into her own hands to prove she is the superior leader and commander. But why does her skin feel hot and her thighs feel tight? The refreshments that Plegian witch brought earlier must have something to do with it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Robin has a stomach bug and although she doesn't actually throw up in this, I do talk about the possibility a bit. I tried to be a little delicate about it so as to not be gross but just be warned.

The night was chilly in the onset of autumn, but the Tactician found no comfort in it as she kicked the woolen blanket from her legs for a third time. She was restless, unable to sleep or get comfortable as a sickness in her gut twisted her insides and made her sweat. The cool of the air should have brought some relief, but her skin only crawled at the difference in temperature. It made her shiver but allowed no respite. For what was probably the hundredth time that night, Robin cursed under her breath.  
  
This was ridiculous! She didn't have time to be sick! She needed to be in Khan Flavia's tent with Chrom and Basilio, lending her insight to the planning phase of the upcoming attack on a Valm stronghold. This was a crucial time when they couldn't afford mistakes. It was foolish for her to be holed up in bed, twisting with pain, and she had half a mind to storm back to her husband's side and demand to be given a place at the table. When she stood with a frustrated huff, irritation overtaking rationale, she teetered on her feet as dizziness made her vision swim and her stomach _clenched_ with the threat of upheaval.  
  
As quickly as she stood, she flopped back onto her cot and screwed her eyes shut tight in an effort to calm the sudden vertigo. Clammy fingers gripped the thin mattress for support and she winced when her stomach rolled in protest to the physical strain she put on it. With clenched teeth and fisted fingers, she moaned her misfortune and bit back tears. She _hated_ being sick, particularly like _this_ when there was nothing to be done but wait it out. A cold she could handle; a cold she could _work with_ and _take medicine for_. This-- this foul ache in her belly that grasped and clawed at her throat with involuntary whimpers as her body prepared to vomit-- was a curse worse than _Nosferatu_. Swallowing thickly, Robin dragged her legs slowly back up from the floor to try and lay back down.  
  
A rustle of shifting cloth alerted the woman to entry into her tent and she braced herself before opening her eyes. Part of her hoped it was Chrom coming with an update on what their plans were thus far so that she might lend her input. A larger part, however, hoped he had simply come to bring her a bucket. When she saw no sign of her spouse, though, she risked a gentle clearing of her throat.  
  
"Chrom?"  
  
A throaty chuckle met her response and Robin frowned. She knew that voice...  
  
"Tharja?"  
  
"Hello, Robin."~  
  
The syrupy sweet lilt to the dark mage's tone was certainly suspect, but what concerned Robin was that it wasn't even the _first_ suspicious detail she noticed. Usually, when Tharja was busying herself with _keeping a close watch_ on the Tactician, it was nearly impossible to hear her coming. The taller woman's entry had been decidedly obvious when the sound of the tent flap shifting had caught Robin's ears. The idea that Tharja would _want_ to be noticed unsettled the white-haired woman, especially feeling as sick and vulnerable as she did. The last thing Robin wanted was to be unable to defend herself against any of Tharja's experimental hexes.  
  
"What are you... doing here?"  
  
Robin cringed at the difficulty she had in forming the full sentence, hating how much effort even a broken thought took to articulate.  
  
"I was looking for you in the Khan's tent, but Chrom said you weren't feeling well tonight and were staying in bed. I wanted to check on you."  
  
A frown crossed Robin's features, not entirely borne of the unexpected cramp in her belly. Tharja being concerned for her wellbeing was not unusual, but that didn't mean she wasn't still on guard. Robin tried to force an appreciative smile, but she could feel how much more like a grimace it looked. A cough stitched itself in the Tactician's lungs and she struggled to recover for several seconds, doubling over the edge of the bed and praying she didn't get sick all over her feet. When the feeling passed, the urge to vomit blissfully unfulfilled, she was panting and her shoulders trembled. Carefully, Robin looked up and saw Tharja had inched several paces closer, concern etched in the Plegian's face.  
  
Or perhaps it was the same, moody expression she always wore. It was difficult to tell the difference through blurry eyes if Robin were honest. Tharja's balmy hand pressed to her forehead, surprising the white-haired woman with how gentle and pleasant it felt against her skin. She always imagined Tharja's hands would be cold or clammy, but the dry warmth was actually soothing and Robin found herself unconsciously leaning into the touch with a barely restrained murmur of content.  
  
"You're burning up... but I don't feel any magical interference. If this were a simple hex, I could dispel it for you, but..."  
  
"It's... it's alright... haaa... Tharja. It'll pass. I just... need to wait it... out."  
  
The dark mage clicked her tongue and crouched in the grass to scan Robin's face. Tharja's expression seemed more curious and searching than worried, but perhaps that was the heat-addled part of Robin's brain. They stared at each other like that for a few long, silent moments and the Tactician did her best not to look as pathetic as she felt. It didn't help, however, when another involuntary groan welled in her throat as she lurched forward again in pain.  
  
"Poor thing..." Tharja's hand patted softly at the back of Robin's head and she stepped away without further comment. Surprising herself, Robin nearly called her back. It was unusual for Robin to regret losing the mage's company and while she certainly didn't want an audience to her misery, the distraction of conversation had actually seemed to help ward off the mounting nausea. Now, with the other woman departed, she was left alone with nothing but the growing frustration of sickness that was neither yielding nor forthcoming.  
  
Before Robin could say anything, however, Tharja returned as unceremoniously as she left. She carried a china tea cup and saucer in hand with her, the former of which spewing steady steam from its contents. Robin felt her stomach clench at the thought of adding anything to it and she physically recoiled as Tharja neared. It was rude, perhaps, but the mage said nothing as she sat beside the other woman on the cot. On the contrary, she cooed sympathetically-- a sound as foreign and unnatural as could be in that dark, sullen voice of hers-- and brushed several strands of hair from Robin's sweat-slicked forehead.  
  
"Drink this. It will ease the pain and help the sickness pass."  
  
The white-haired woman frowned in distrust at the golden liquid of the cup then at the mage who offered it. The possibility that this was a trap, a hex in the guise of help, was too strong for Robin not to feel uneasy. Everything about this scene-- the concerned tones, the attempt at soothing touches, the easy and no-strings-attached offer of relief-- was decidedly _not at all_ like the dark mage to her left. Robin's eyes remained narrowed as she found herself weighing the chances of further misery with the one already guaranteed. Did she risk whatever "unspoken side effects" that Tharja's supposed medicine would most certainly have? Or take her chances that this illness might pass without making a mess of the floor of her tent?  
  
A particularly nasty stab of pain in her abdomen wrenched all thought and reason from Robin's mind. She whimpered softly under her breath and pitched forward, certain that _this_ would be the time she finally emptied her stomach. Saliva pooled under her tongue which felt thick between her teeth and her jaw went lax as she panted. Her throat clenched and she coughed once, gagged, and an involuntary growl thrummed from her abused vocal chords. Tharja was kind enough not to react, but the intensity of her seeking gaze only worsened Robin's embarrassment at being so wholly out of control of her own body. The spasm passed and she was left groaning with each labored exhale.  
  
_Why couldn't she just be sick already and be done with it?!_  
  
"As fascinating as it is to witness your misery, Robin-- especially when I'm the only one who gets to watch-- I really think you should drink this. If you wait too long, it might be too late and who knows how long this sickness will last? You don't want to be out of commission for longer than necessary, right?"  
  
Robin wanted to glare at the dark mage's tone, to make baseless (well, _evidence_ -less) accusations, but the smell of sweet tea mixed with ginger was clouding her senses. She eyed the proffered liquid warily and inhaled to ask something, only to find her throat clenching in protest. Coughing twice in a direction away from that liquid possibility of relief, she glanced once more at the Plegian.  
  
"What's... in it?"  
  
"Oh a little of this... a little of that..."  
  
The giggle that followed did not fill the Tactician with the greatest of confidence and it must have shown on her face because Tharja sighed. Her expression fell (as much as that deadpan, vaguely threatening one _can_ ) and she met Robin's gaze with a surprising amount of sincerity and dejection.  
  
"It's green tea made with ginger and chamomile. Maribelle suggested it when she overheard Chrom discussing your illness with the Khans. Honestly, Robin, you act like I would ever deliberately hurt you."  
  
Guilt swept over Robin at those words and she found herself chastising her wary suspicion. For all the things Tharja _was_ and all the things Tharja _could be_ , a knife in the back was not one of them. And while this tea _could_ certainly have a few extra surprises in it, she would be hard-pressed to imagine any of them being particularly damning or damaging. With a restrained sigh, Robin sat fully upright-- slow and easy to prevent causing another cramp-- and extended a shaky hand to take the cup.  
  
"I'm sorry... Tharja. I shouldn't be so... critical of someone... I consider a friend."  
  
Tharja's face lit up then, genuine surprise written in her features at the Tactician's reassurance. When the white-haired woman's hand had nearly grasped the cup, the mage pulled it just out of reach with a soft tutting sound. Robin half-expected Tharja to finally explain the catch-- make some silly demand before she would allow Robin to take the cup. Instead Tharja laid the trembling, outstretched hand back in Robin's lap and brought cup to the Tactician's parted lips.  
  
Heat spread across Robin's face at the gesture and she might have protested if Tharja wasn't already tipping the cup up against her mouth. Warm fluid met Robin's lips and tongue and the taste almost elicited a soft moan from the ailing woman. It went down easy-- easier still when Robin closed her eyes against the embarrassment of Tharja's gaze as she "helped." When it was gone, Robin exhaled and swallowed the desire to ask for more. She needed to take it easy and not overdo it lest she make herself worse rather than better.  
  
A satisfied sound filled her ears and she might have mistaken it for another involuntary one of her own were it not for the half-lidded expression on Tharja's face as she withdrew the cup. Slender fingers were wrapped around Robin's thigh from where Tharja had rested for support while pouring that sweet, relieving fluid in her mouth and suddenly the Tactician was all too aware of how close they were. The embarrassment from mere moments ago returned in full force and she sat up as straight as she could and cleared her throat.  
  
"Er... thank you... Tharja."  
  
The dark mage hummed with a curling smile and, after a moment or two too long, slid away from Robin's space and settled the cup back on the saucer. The white-haired woman felt her gaze dart away to the floor and she tried not to cough awkwardly in the silence that fell between them. Her stomach still roiled with unpleasant pressure, but the heat of the tea in her gullet didn't immediately come back up and she was grateful enough for that. The sickness was not gone-- yet-- but when an errant breeze fluttered under the flap of her tent, it didn't sting or bite and that was more than enough for her.  
  
"I'm going to... try and lay down, Tharja. I don't mean to be rude but..."  
  
The mage's lower lip rolled between pearly white teeth in something like a pout as she listened to the Tactician's words. It was clear she wanted to stay, but as Robin pulled herself horizontally onto the bed once more, she stood without further complaint. Not one to leave poor Robin to take care of herself while she was still around (or perhaps fishing for excuses to stay a little longer), Tharja snatched the thin wool blanket from the other's hands before Robin could cover up. With all the gentle concern of a doting mother, the dark mage laid the blanket over Robin's curled form and tucked it under her chin. Leaning down, she pressed a chaste kiss to the Robin's forehead as if to complete the impression. The Tactician merely stared in slightly delirious surprise.  
  
"You rest now, Robin. I'll come in to check on you in a little while."

With no strength left to add any further comment, Robin felt dizziness and exhaustion finally take hold as sleep beckoned.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Robin has a post-pregnancy body in this and I tried to capture that to some degree, but not in a negative light or anything. I just never know what some people might be turned off by? One day, I'll say "don't judge me" and actually stop explaining myself. One day...
> 
> Anyway, this keeps turning out longer than I initially expected and the tags keep changing slightly (or, more specifically, they keep growing) as I add new things and solidify this mess in my head. I could have sworn I had this whole thing figured out earlier but apparently not.

At first, sleep came easily once the painful twisting of Robin's stomach had passed. Much to her chagrin, the sickness had taken her strength with it when it went, leaving her without the energy to do anything but sleep. She would have preferred to return to Chrom's side now that she was feeling better, but the weakness in her limbs had sapped that thought in a wave of exhaustion.  
  
An hour passed. Then two and four. The Tactician reveled in the dreamless, restful sleep that took hold of her, no other thought on her mind than the desire to see it through to morning. So when she felt the first stir of consciousness, much too soon for the sun to have crept into the sky, it was with a reluctant groan and a languid stretch. She struggled to cling to the comfort of sleep but it was to no avail. Her eyes refused to stay shut any longer and though her mind felt dizzy with some heady sensation, it was not the call to rest she hoped for.  
  
A breathy sigh left the woman's lips as she tried to account for the unexpected wakefulness. She brushed her fingers back through soft white bangs, rubbing curled fists into the corners of her eyes as they adjusted to being open. The first thing she noticed was how dark the tent now was, confirming her suspicions that night had not yet given way to dawn.  
  
In her hazy, still-tired state, she realized that the last time her eyes had been open, her tent had been more thoroughly illuminated, lit up by candles and the fading light of dusk. Curious if perhaps Chrom had come to check on her in the night, she was surprised to find no sign of him whatsoever. All at once, as Robin tried to remember if she had extinguished those flames before collapsing in bed, the earlier interaction with a dark haired witch came back to her.  
  
_Tharja_.  
  
Her mind reflexively tensed at the name, so accustomed as it was to the need to be cautious and on guard where the other woman was concerned. It wasn't that Robin _disliked_ the mage, but her... mannerisms didn't exactly lend an air of confidence to those around her. Her straightforward attitude and unabashed desire for Robin's attention and affection were a frequent source of discomfort for the Tactician, one she had a hard time distancing herself from even when the Plegian was being _~~surprisingly~~_ , **~~_suspiciously_~~** genuinely helpful.  
  
Robin would be lying if she said she hadn't doubted the integrity of the mage's assertions that the tea she offered would ease the Tactician's suffering. Even when she chose to drink it after Tharja's dejected promise, Robin still had not been able to shake the concern that she would wake up with purple hair or Tharja's name scratched into her skin. She could never be fully certain of the mage's intentions or if there was a malicious plot hidden behind the sweetest of nothings.  
  
Still, despite Robin's suspicions, here she was, feeling better than she had since dinner and surprisingly alert despite how little sleep she must have gotten. Peering down at her fingers, Robin briefly considered checking on her husband and assessing the battle plans in progress. She needed to ensure that nothing had been overlooked and that a fresh pair of eyes, particularly hers, couldn't offer something more effective. The need to support her husband, to help him lead this charge and keep their company safe, was strong in her heart and she might have risen to its call were it not for a very _different_ need stirring in her veins.  
  
Heat spread across her face and chest as unexpected desire surged in her core and all thoughts of leaving her bed quickly melted away. The _need_ caught her off guard and pulled a shaky gasp from her lips that left her panting. Her mind's plea for pleasure rose and left goosebumps across her upper arms and shoulders. She chided herself under her breath for such unexpected and ill-timed desires. Trying to recall the last time she and Chrom had been intimate, as if doing so might help reason reign and quell the flames, she found herself hard pressed to summon the memory. Had it really been so long?  
  
It's not that she blamed him, of course. Initiating such a thing was a two-way road. Unfortunately, that particular road had been blocked off and rerouted around any number of obstacles these last few months. The birth of their daughter had been only a few trying, tiresome weeks before they had set out to face their newest threat. The constant traveling, planning, and fighting since then had left little time for more personal matters. It wasn't ideal, certainly, but it was hardly something to hold against her beloved spouse.  
  
Perhaps it was the solitude, a rare moment to herself since this new conflict had begun. The first time in too long that her thoughts were unburdened with plans and strategies and intrigue. Perhaps it was the longing she felt to be at Chrom's side that had morphed into this heated desire. Or perhaps she was simply pent up and overly stressed from these many months' events. Whatever it was that had sparked the need, Robin was soon sinking into the mattress more comfortably and relaxing as her fingers slid under the blanket and lazily across her form.  
  
Her sleep clothes were simple: a long-sleeved white nightgown that fell to her knees and a pair of matching pants for added warmth in the coming cooler months. The pants had been forgotten earlier in the evening, when the fever still raged and made the soft material feel like bristles against her skin. Now, the nightgown felt smooth and slightly cool beneath her touch as she explored the expanse of her chest and abdomen.  
  
A quiet gasp passed her lips at the way her breasts tingled when her hands stroked down them in unison and she felt her shoulder blades roll against the mattress to arch herself further up into her palms. Feeling more eager as warm pressure began to build in her core, Robin let her hands wander more fervently. She reached down to tug the nightgown's hem up and around her collarbone, leaving her exposed beneath her blanket. The wool scratched pleasantly against her skin and she wasted no time in sliding back under to more thoroughly stroke her heated body.  
  
Her right hand pressed flat and followed the soft curve of her belly. The muscles were more defined now after months of combat following her pregnancy but there was still a bit of soft give that was delightful to touch. Her fingertips lovingly traced the short ridges in her flesh where stretch marks had appeared as Lucina had developed inside her and the attention sent shivers along Robin's spine. She curled and relaxed her forefinger along her pelvic bone, a trail of goosebumps following in her wake as she inched ever closer to the joining of her thighs.  
  
Idly, her left hand grasped and cupped the closest breast, feeling the weight in her palm. Months away from her infant daughter had dried the milk production in her breasts, but she found they were still more sensitive than usual and had yet to lose their pregnancy gains. As her right hand continued its downward trek, the left remained fixated on her breasts, now alternating between them as it lavished much-needed attention. She gasped again in surprise when a particularly sharp tug of her nipple sparked a ripple of pleasure and her mouth stayed open around deep pants of want.  
  
The hand that had touched and teased around her hips now rose to join the other in palming and gently squeezing at her breasts. Each little stroke and swirl of her long fingers made the breath in her lungs hitch and her hips twitch with an involuntary urge to buck. Her seeking hands grew more rough in their ministrations as desire became more impatient. Her fingernails dug into her skin lightly now when she grasped and her head tilted up with a restrained moan when she pulled at the nipple, wrapping her forefinger around it tightly with each tug.  
  
The sensations were delightful and her skin tingled with loss and want when she pushed her hands further down at last, but her core _ached_ with desperation for touch and she could ignore it no longer. Opening and bending her knees enough that the blanket provided cover but no hindrance, Robin ran her hands along the soft skin of her inner thighs. A shiver run up her spine and at the proximity of those hands, so close and with such obvious intent to descend, she felt the muscles of her slick and needy slit clench. She struggled with the urge to merely bury her fingers inside herself and attack her swollen clit for relief. This was the first time in ages she had had the chance to play alone and she wasn't about to squander it on a greedy, short release. With a lift of her waist, she slid white cotton panties down along her long legs and discarded on the floor of her tent.  
  
Angling her hips to allow her left hand to slide under and around her left thigh, Robin let her fingers wander and explore as they had her torso. While her right fingers stroked and softly tickled the trail of her curls along her folds, the left hand pressed and groped where her thigh met her pelvis, each in turn. Her heels dug into the thin mattress of her cot, lifting her hips an inch or so of their own accord as she teased herself further. Her entrance clenched and spilled desire down her thighs and the curve of her ass and she swiped two fingers in it to coat her folds and under the hood of her mons pubis. Her fingertips grazed her clit as she did and a sound somewhere between a squeal and a gasp filled her throat.  
  
Unable to fight herself any longer once the floodgates had been shattered with that single touch, Robin turned her attention at last to her quivering, weeping pussy. The fingers of her left hand still trailed slick and teased her labia but her right hand disappeared between those folds to rub slow, concentric circles over her clit. The first few passes elicited shaky gasps of want and her hips longed to lift and press rhythmically into her hands in simulation of what her body _really_ wanted. Robin felt her eyes slide closed and her mouth hang open again as she rubbed slowly, _slowly_ , **_so_** agonizingly slowly that if it had been Chrom teasing her this thoroughly, she might have swatted his arm with a few choice words.  
  
The fingertips of her left hand dared to dip down between her folds, lower than her right hand's taunting rhythm, to trace the entrance of her core. A whimper thrummed in the Tactician's throat and her hips thrusted more earnestly as her body sought to be filled. It took little effort to slide her first finger in and she swirled it once experimentally. The single finger pumping slowly in time to the rotation of her other hand felt nice in the way it alleviated the desire for something inside her, but it hardly fulfilled the real _need_ her body radiated. Relinquishing to her body's signals, Robin slipped a second finger inside to join the first and relished in the sensation.  
  
Sweat began to bead along her forehead, but she hesitated in removing the blanket. The thought of someone-- even Chrom-- strolling into her tent to discover her like this was enough of a deterrent to remain under the blanket. When a particularly _desperate_ thrust of her hips sent the blanket sliding down between her thighs and rubbing against her hands, she reconsidered. Pausing her ministrations (much to the panting, almost whining dismay of her senses), Robin held her breath for several seconds to listen to the night sounds surrounding her and her tent.  
  
Outside, the only audible sounds she could clearly make out were those of crickets singing in chorus. A hush was securely over the camp and if anything punctuated the relative silence ( _anything besides the needy moans and murmurs of her own lips_ , a traitorous voice supplied), it was merely the deep breathing and light snoring of a company seeking rest. Sighing at herself in resignation and building confidence, she curled her feet around the bottom edge of her blanket and slid it down and off her body. The cool night air prickled against her skin and rose goosebumps where her earlier teasing had not. Robin couldn't deny how good it felt in the open air and let herself get lost in her earlier rhythm again, the hesitation from a moment ago completely forgotten.  
  
With renewed fervor she plunged her fingers back into herself, pumping in quick succession. Whether because the brief pause had broken her resolve to go slow and steady or because the exposure had bred a sense of urgency ( _or_ , she realized with a blush, _perhaps the thought of being exposed only turned her on even more_ ), her fingers now moved with a feverish insistence. Her breathing came in short, shallow gasps as she let her hips rock steadily into her shifting fingers, no longer restrained as they had been previously. The fingers working her clit pressed more harshly down as they made quick, flicking movements over the swollen cluster. The feeling of pleasure mounting in her sex pulled low, breathy moans from her lips with each shaky exhale. Finally ( _finally_ **_finally_** ) she felt her release begin to crest. Her toes curled and her hips lifted entirely off the mattress as she climbed toward orgasm. Up and up, closer and closer, with every nerve ending standing at attention, and then--  
  
Nothing.  
  
All at once, the sensation vanished and Robin found herself rubbing and stroking fruitlessly. A desperate, dejected whine left her throat at the lack of fulfillment. Her fingers continued their movements to the definite and real pleasure of her senses, but all the symptoms and signs of an approaching orgasm were gone. What the hell had just happened?  
  
With a sigh, Robin considered calling it a night and abandoning her search for release. She couldn't explain the reason for the sudden loss of her peak, but perhaps it was a sign that she needed to get back to sleep. Wiping her slick fingers along the inside of her thighs and lapping the remaining sweetness with her tongue, she reached for her blanket and covered back up. It would be a chore to try and fall asleep with the throbbing ache still raging in her core, but she needed sleep more than sex anyway.  
  
Or that's what she told herself as she tossed and turned, frustration taking over any attempt to calm her nerves and sleep. It was going to be a long night.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you look at that; more plot. Did I mention I had to reconsider the tags for this because I'm incapable of writing plotless porn? It's true. I was as surprised as you were, really!

Meanwhile, in the Khan's tent, the situation there was similarly heating up, but not with sweet, slow-building pleasure or needy moans. Flavia, the reigning Khan of Regna Ferox, was being held back by a worried Chrom as she waved a clenched fist at a man already nursing a growing bump on his bald head. A curse flew from the blonde woman's lips and were it not for the Ylissean Exalt currently digging his heels into the dirt to keep her stationary, she would have gladly relieved the damn fool Basilio of his head. As it was, her sword hand itched to reach for her weapon but a strong, sudden shove from her Champion brought her back to her senses.  
  
"Enough, Chrom! I am calm!"  
  
"Could've fooled me..."  
  
The withering look from both Flavia and Chrom in Basilio's direction might have silenced his unruly tongue were he a smarter man, but instead he merely dissolved into quiet chuckles. For what it was worth-- or perhaps in the interest of not being exiled from the tent for the night-- he had the good grace to shut his mouth then and settle back into a chair beside the map table. Chancing a glance in the Khan's direction, Chrom tried to keep his expression neutral so that neither sympathy nor a misread attempt at placating the volatile Khan could set the woman off again. The slate-grey-eyed Feroxian frowned in irritation when she met Chrom's gaze, but after a moment or two more, she huffed and her shoulders relaxed.  
  
"You fail to take what we've learned about this new enemy into account, oaf. Your brutish, barbaric tactics may have served you in the past, but it will only succeed in wiping out half our forces if we employ them here!"  
  
"My so-called 'brutish, barbaric tactics' were more than enough to keep _you_ out of the Khan's seat for decades! Or are you admitting these Valm cockroaches are a stronger and more dangerous enemy than even you?"  
  
"You arrogant, imbecilic--"  
  
"Basilio! This is hardly the time for snark or petty insults! Besides, as I recall it was our Tactician's brilliance and planning that dethroned you in the first place. If your ways are so thoroughly trounced by Robin's strategies, it would make more sense to use them now!"  
  
Chrom's voice shouted back at the dark-skinned warrior whose expression intensified at the mention of his humiliation at the hands of the foreign waif. He snarled angrily and threw his hands up in indignation.  
  
"Don't act like I don't see what you're doing, Ylissean. Coming to your bride's defense when she isn't here to speak for herself is a sign of weakness and doubt! Her reputation should speak for itself without need for regaling from her dutiful husband!"  
  
Flavia barked a laugh at that and Basilio's shoulders straightened with pride at his assumption that she had sided with him at last. Chrom's jaw shifted irritably, but the blonde Khan waved her hand dismissively.  
  
"Robin's reputation far precedes her, or else the Valm soldiers hiding in their stronghold would have marched into this encampment and challenged us already. The fact that you're too stupid and pigheaded to think about anything beyond your own self-inflated ego says nothing of the woman's brilliance on the battlefield."  
  
Basilio's upper lip curled with a vicious retort, but the sound of china sliding against china drew the trio's attention to the entryway of the tent. Much to their combined surprise (and more than a little of Chrom's concern), Tharja stood just inside with what the Plegian had hoped was an enticing smile. She carried with her a tray of tea things as she stepped further inside and laid her refreshments down on the map table, careful not to disturb anything. Flavia and Chrom shared a silent glance before returning to the sight of Tharja as she poured three cups of tea.  
  
"Tharja, what are you--"  
  
"I could hear you from across camp, did you know that? If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to alert our enemies to our location."  
  
Despite the heavy accusation of her words, Tharja's tone was as indifferent as always. It still seemed to have the intended effect, however, as Flavia's gaze shifted guiltily (if irritatedly) to the floor and Basilio's cheeks actually lightened. The Feroxians settled back into their chairs once more, trying to force themselves to relax despite the tenseness of their shoulders and the fires of conflict in their veins. Chrom stepped forward to inspect the gathered things on Tharja's tray and tried to offer thanks with a thin smile.  
  
"It's obvious you three are lost without Robin's help, but if you want her to join you _before_ you manage to get yourselves killed on the battlefield, you might consider _letting her rest and get better_."  
  
It was Chrom's turn to feel guilty now and he considered returning to their tent to check on his wife. He could use the walk outside in the cool air to clear his head and the break to spend a moment with Robin would do him good. She might even be feeling well enough to advise him on dealing with these hot headed Feroxians and get some semblance of a plan set in stone. As he opened his mouth to voice his intentions, he looked up to see Tharja shoving a tea cup and saucer into his hands.  
  
"I made a little something earlier to help Robin sleep and cool her fever. This is quite a bit weaker, but it should still do the trick of _soothing certain tempers_."  
  
She shared a pointed gaze with Chrom who grinned despite himself at the meaning she instilled not just in her words but in her eyes. He took the offered cup from the dark mage's hands and set it beside Basilio's seat at the table. The Ylissean ignored the other man's obvious resistance to something as _refined_ as tea and returned to Tharja for a second cup. The grin she gave him was a little too wide, but given her reputation, it wasn't as unnerving as some of the tales Robin had spun about the Plegian. As Chrom delivered a cup to his Khan, he contemplated the many and varied stories he had heard about the dark-haired woman at his back.  
  
Her obsession with Robin was apparent in nearly everything she did. He had witnessed her fervor and devotion with his own eyes when she fought alongside his wife, but Robin had complained more than once about having to extract herself from the Plegian's company or chase the dark mage off when she had been caught watching Robin from the shadows. He wondered briefly if this "peace offering" of sorts was not a ploy, but when he brought Flavia's cup close to his face to inspect it, he found no trace of anything that might raise alarm.  
  
"Thank you, Chrom."  
  
As she took the cup from the Ylissean's hands, Flavia's tone was restrained and, if Chrom were a more foolish man, he might have even called it defeated. Perhaps the evening had finally started taking its toll on the Khan, or the realization that their "discussion" was as disruptive as it was fruitless had given her the pause she needed to mentally step back and rethink her behavior. Either way, as Chrom parted from her to meet Tharja again, he watched her for a few moments longer as she carefully sipped from her cup with an introspective expression on her face.  
  
The Exalt was pleased to see Basilio braving a few long draughts from his cup as well when the Ylissean turned back around. Tharja seemed equally delighted to see the Feroxians partaking of her offering and when Chrom stood near enough to claim the last cup, she hummed in satisfaction.  
  
"There's enough left for a second round, but I'm afraid this is where I leave you three to your... hmm, selves."~  
  
Chrom found himself with a questioning expression at the sultry, self-satisfied tone of Tharja's voice, but before he could speak on it further, she was stepping away to take her leave. He frowned in uncertainty and glanced once more at the contents of his cup, eyeing it warily before looking across at Flavia and Basilio in turn. Both Khans had finished their drinks, content at the short breather afforded by the interruption, and, when it became apparent that nothing at all untoward was happening to either of them, he began to drink from his cup.  
  
At the edge of the tent, just before leaving the space entirely, Tharja turned a serious glare in Chrom's direction. For the briefest moment, he felt like a child about to be scolded by his mother or perhaps a very cross school teacher. Swallowing the absurd notion, he steeled his gaze and met the dark mage's own.  
  
"Robin was feeling a little better when I spoke to her last but she was turning in for the night to sleep off the last of her illness. _Don't_ even _think_ about interrupting or disturbing her. She needs to rest and regain her strength. Sleep in here if you have to, but if you wake her before dawn, **_I'll know_**."  
  
The clear threat in Tharja's words gave Chrom pause and he had to fight the unnatural urge to bow his head and apologize. He did still feel guilty about the possibility of disturbing his ailing bride earlier when tempers were flaring but the way the mage commanded no room for argument caught the Ylissean off guard. She was usually such a dour, mumbling little wraith, whispering ancient and experimental hexes under her breath whenever he stumbled across her. This shift in attitude was so unlike her that he was certain he had finally caught a glimpse of the depths of her obsession with Robin. He suddenly understood why his wife had always been so uneasy whenever he had laughed about the Plegian's "little crush."  
  
With no further threats to add and her point made perfectly plain, Tharja turned on a perfectly poised black heel and left the tent. Chrom watched as she went, staring after the empty space for a silent moment when she'd gone. He wondered if he would find her passed out on the floor of his and Robin's tent later, curled up behind some pile of gear to hide her presence. _No_ , he realized with a shudder, _she would stay awake until dawn three days from now if it meant keeping watch on Robin_. With a shake of his head, the Exalt turned from his place and rejoined his contemplative Khan and the constant thorn in her side as they sat together in surprisingly peaceable silence. Clearing his throat, he knocked his knuckles against the solid surface of the map table.  
  
"Now, about that siege."  



	4. Chapter 4

By the time the pot of tea was emptied, the earlier disagreement was all but forgotten. Chrom stood at the edge of the map table, mostly-empty tea cup in hand, and stared down at the small figures laid out in formation. With cooler heads prevailing at last, the organization of their company had come almost embarrassingly easily. With a smirk, the Ylissean wondered if perhaps the secret to Robin's genius was nothing more than an uncanny ability to remain calm and unperturbed. Draining the last of his tea, he set the cup aside on the silver tray and sighed as he looked over the collected accoutrements.  
  
For as much as his skin had crawled with distrust of the eerily friendly and helpful offering of a certain Plegian witch, he couldn't deny how much better the night had gone since her intrusion. To his far right, he could hear the upbeat, relaxed notes in Flavia's voice as she laughed at something with her fellow Feroxian. The sound of her voice brought a smile to his face as he listened, thankful for the positive turn this evening had taken. He turned to join the others then, his spirits lifted in the lingering warmth of well-made tea and pleasant company.  
  
Flavia grinned as the Exalt approached, grey eyes drawn to look him over as he did. Chrom was a good man and a strong leader, but he had no trace of the brash, bullheaded nature of either the men or the leaders she had suffered throughout her life. The prospect of listening to or following a woman's lead was not an insult to his pride and he was both wise and humble enough to bow his head when a better direction was suggested, regardless of where it came from. It was a refreshing difference to witness and it endeared him to her in a way she couldn't put words to.  
  
She watched him fumble unexpectedly as something tumbled from his fingers. When he bent to retrieve it, one knee hitting the solid ground beneath him, she felt something _seize_ in her chest at the sight. Imagining him on his knees at her feet while she sat in the Khan's seat at Regna Ferox had a warming effect on more than her face and she had to shift her hips slightly to keep from squirming in place. When he rose again, she couldn't help but notice a similar tinge to his cheeks and she had to wonder what thoughts had gone through _his_ head as well.  
  
The Exalt stood stoically, neither speaking nor making to leave the tent now that their discussion had concluded. Flavia knew it was because that Plegian witch had threatened any number of unpleasant things if he returned to his own tent too early. She would be lying if she said she didn't hope that part of it was to keep her company a little longer. She considered Chrom a good friend and his company was infinitely more preferable to that of the hulk of a man to her left. It had been ages since she had enjoyed the company of a friend in a moment of peace and although the silence was a little more tense than she would like, it was enjoyable simply having Chrom here.

Basilio opened his mouth to say something ( _idiotic_ Flavia's inner voice added with a groan) but before the words could register in her ears, a sudden sharp pain thundered in her head. Her brows knit in agony and she lurched forward with one hand on her knee and the other covering her face. Chrom's voice ( _it had to be his because it was much gentler on the ears and wasn't worsening the sudden headache_ , she realized) vaguely, distantly thrummed against her senses but the pain blocked all attempts at deciphering what he said. Flavia knew without hearing that a pathetic whimper of distress had left her throat and then Basilio's voice joined the chorus of far off sounds she couldn't really hear.

Braving a tentative glance up toward her Champion, she saw the faintest outline of light around him, like an aura radiating off his form. She wondered if perhaps she were dying and this was merely a phantom come to collect her from the mortal world, but then she realized that everything else in the room was likewise pulsing and out of focus. Squeezing her eyes shut, Flavia clenched her teeth and attempted to control her breathing. The pain hadn't lessened in what could have been moments, but felt more like hours as she tried to grapple her senses from the migraine's control. Mere seconds before the Khan was certain she would black out, the sensations _shifted_ and suddenly she could see again.  
  
"Flavia?! What on earth is the matter?! Do you need a healer?"  
  
She grinned toothily at the Exalt's concern, trying to recover from the way she was left panting in the wake of... whatever that had been. Flavia held a hand out to stay the Ylissean's actions but it still took several seconds of heavy gasping before she could summon her voice.  
  
"Hold, Chrom. I'm alright. The pain has subsided, I--"  
  
A gasp yanked from the Khan's lips then as a sharp twist of pain stole the breath from her lungs. She doubled over again, arms wrapping tightly around her abdomen as searing fire erupted from her thighs and pelvis. Under more normal circumstances, she might have assumed this was a particularly painful menstrual cramp, but those weren't due for another week or two and they had never come on so suddenly nor had they ever been this intense. A grunt of frustration burned her throat when the pain intensified briefly as her thighs clenched. She felt a hand settle onto her shoulder and when she looked up into Chrom's face, she felt possessed by the strangest, most unbidden urge to kiss him.  
  
Mentally Flavia shook her head, reason overcoming the unexpected desire with a reminder that he was married and therefore devoted to someone else. Another painful twinge of her loins erased the thought from her head, melting reason and desire at once in white heat. Despite how vulnerable and pathetic it made her feel, she reached a hand out to grasp Chrom's shoulder for support. Her fingers curled around the expanse of flesh where his neck met his shoulder and she frowned when she heard him gasp at her touch.  
  
Was he also afflicted? Had her contact somehow transferred the pain to him as well? She opened her eyes again in concern for his wellbeing, only to find that her fingers were fisted not on his shoulder but in his dark blue locks. Surprise briefly crossed her face, but the red blush that painted his quickly turned confusion into daring, all-comsuming need. Without a second thought, she tightened her fingers the slightest bit further and yanked the Ylissean toward her.  
  
The sudden movement caught the man off guard and he tumbled forward, landing hard on his knees. His mouth hung open as he tilted his head back to relieve some of the pressure of his hair being pulled but before he could voice his concern, his mouth was sealed with the Feroxian's lips. A throaty moan vibrated from the blonde woman as she flicked her tongue in his mouth and Chrom was at a loss of what to do. He knew there was something wrong with what she was doing ( _what was it again_? He got the very distinct impression he was forgetting something), but his slacks were suddenly a little tighter and he couldn't deny the warm stirrings her kiss and this position awoke in him. He felt cool air against his lips once more when she pulled away, panting and flushed and he found himself staring up at her, unable to look away.  
  
The pain in her abdomen was gone, Flavia realized with a sigh of relief as she pulled away from the Exalt's waiting mouth. Or perhaps she had simply forgotten it in the exquisite feeling of looking down on the man who sat so dutifully on his knees and gazed at her like she was the radiant Queen she deserved to be seen as. It was a feeling she had never experienced before-- _never had the chance to_ with all the bloated egos and fragile masculinity of the men who had tried to woo or wound her throughout her years in Regna Ferox. She understood the reason for it, of course. A strong man made a strong Khan and a strong mate, so to bare a hint of weakness, of _submission_ , was to admit that one was unfit to lead or couple.  
  
But for Chrom, a man for whom leadership was a birthright and not a battle, the same rules did not necessarily apply. Whatever it was that kept him from pushing her hands away, standing from his knees, and storming out of the tent right that very moment, she was grateful (and more than a little turned on if the heat pooling in her skirts was anything to go by) for the honor of seeing him like that. A devious grin played about the Khan's lips as she gazed at the beautiful man on his knees by her feet and she allowed her hand to release its hold on him. Tender but insistent fingers trailed along Chrom's jawline, swiping a thin strand of her saliva from his lips. She chuckled when he blushed faintly and shifted his weight.  
  
"What in the _hell_ are you two doing?!"  
  
The sound of Basilio's voice, poorly timed and unwelcome as ever, broke the moment between Chrom and Flavia and the pair looked in the bald Feroxian's direction. The Ylissean, it seemed, had regained some of his senses as he made to stand. A part of her told her to let him up, to step back before she ruined a good friendship, but another voice (a sweeter, darker voice that bubbled up from the depths within her) said _no. Keep him **here**. Remind him where he belongs_. And before she knew what she was doing, Flavia gave another sharp tug on the loose locks of Chrom's hair and turned a dastardly grin at the other seated Feroxian.  
  
"What's the matter, oaf? Are you jealous that Chrom chose to serve _me_? Or that I chose to let him?"  
  
Basilio's rage was neatly written across his face in twisted features and reddening skin. He stood from his seat and stalked several paces closer, hands curled into trembling fists at his sides. He didn't know exactly what he planned to do, but that smug grin on the Khan's face needed erasing, no matter how soft her lips looked or how comfortable Chrom had become. He winced slightly when his chest fluttered at the thought of joining the Exalt on his knees and he shook his head as if this might dispel these uncharacteristic desires.  
  
He opened his mouth to make some abrasive retort, but faltered when a pulse of purple energy shone from the reigning Khan's eyes. For a moment, everything seemed to make sense, even to the thick-headed Basilio. That dark-haired woman-- she was a witch and one as dark as her painted, devious eyes. The unexpected behavior of a married monarch and the Feroxian rival. The deep-seated _need_ to bend to his Khan's desires and submit. This was _magic_ at work and he would be damned if he let it undo him.  
  
But then Flavia turned away from him before he could reveal the insidious plot at work against them and his resolve buckled ever so slightly. She was looking at Chrom now, a loving, adoring expression on her face and the resistance he felt to this strange hex quickly dissolved into jealousy. Basilio found himself longing to taste the blonde woman's fingers as he watched her slide them along Chrom's tongue, turning the Ylissean's cheeks a pretty shade of pink. _Hunger_ burned in the Feroxian's loins and he was on his knees, crawling toward his Khan with clasped and pleading hands.  
  
He would have begged her forgiveness, begged her to look at him with even an ounce of the same appreciation she had turned on Chrom, but she seemed to read his thoughts without him needing to voice them. Her steely gaze met his, grey eyes ringed by a glowing purple, and she grinned ( _oh how he **delighted** in that smile on her face_). Her fingers pulled from a panting Chrom's mouth and she curled one at him, beckoning him closer. With renewed need, he surged forward until he was seated beside the blue-haired Exalt, breathing heavily in anticipation.  
  
"Now, Basilio, I'm going to show you exactly _why_ I am the better Khan."  
  
Some meager part of him wanted to protest-- a part of him that diminished with each passing moment in his Khan's delicate care-- but as the woman's hand rested on the back of his head and pressed his lips to the Ylissean's with a delighted hum, all thoughts melted into the heat of Chrom's tongue as they worked in tandem to please their Khan.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tharja takes advantage of Robin's desperate state. The Tactician isn't exactly unwilling, but she also isn't exactly in a sound of state of mind, so take that for what it is.
> 
> Edit: I decided to add in the rest of the scene to the end after all rather than splitting the chapter in two. I had maximized my writing app's character allocation earlier, which is why I had to break this up a bit but now that I've finished this part of the scene, I'm adding it back in.

Across camp, in a pitch-dark tent and beneath a warm blanket that provided no comfort, Robin tossed in a desperate attempt to sleep. She was exhausted from the effort but it did nothing to push her over the edge. Indeed, it seemed to only make her more aware of her discomfort, her _longing_ in the wake of her unfulfilled climax. The lack of completion made her skin burn and her hips grind uselessly at nothing. She wanted to try again, to bring an end to this distracting and disruptive mood, but the earlier failure made it seem like a waste of time. She could wait this out, if nothing else until Chrom returned and perhaps he wouldn't be too tired to indulge his needy wife.

As time passed and there came no sign of him for what felt like _ages_ , she rolled onto her back and threw the blanket off her nightgown-clad body in a huff. Her fingers traveled down her form in impatient insistence, uninterested in touching and teasing herself as she had before. Her need was immediate and she wanted to waste no more time fighting with her desires for sleep. Lifting one knee and spreading her thighs wide open, she lifted her nightgown up a few inches out of the way and parted her soft, pale folds with the fingers of her left hand and rubbed sharp, quick circles against her clit with the fore- and middle-fingertips of her right.

Her eyes rolled back in delight as the pleasure rose to meet her too-long-ignored need. Breath hitched in her throat as she pressed and circled and built with her fingers. It took only a few minutes for her hips to start gyrating under her ministrations, heels digging into the mattress to lift herself up ever so slightly. She groaned aloud in wanton lust as her orgasm neared, a delightful pressure expanding against her spine and inner thighs. When she lowered her left hand to slide two digits into herself, she saw white, blinding and making her squeal.

She was close, _so_ , _so_ , **_close_** as her toes curled and her head threw back in preparation for her desired end. As her breathing came in short, staccato gasps, she arched up and her ass left the mattress entirely as she

Fell, unsatisfied and writhing with disbelief. For the second time, Robin felt pleasure escape her completely and the groan of irritated frustration that filled the tent might have woken her neighbors. She panted heavily as she tried to catch her breath, teeth worrying her bottom lip.

What the hell was going on?! Why was she struggling to find release when this was likely the last chance she would have to seek it? Was it because it had been so long since she had tried? Since she and Chrom had found time? Had childbirth done this to her?

Her eyes rolled in defeat when she felt her body call once more to be sated. She knew she would not be able to sleep so long as this need filled her, but the prospect of failing a third time only filled her with an aggravation to match the fluttering pulse in her loins. She wondered if perhaps changing her position would help her find satisfaction, remembering the heights of passion and pleasure she and Chrom had found together simply by trying things from another angle. Sighing in resignation, Robin rolled over onto her belly and lifted her hips.

Turning her head to the side to be able to breathe, she settled on her spread knees in a comfortable position. Her face burned at the exposure of her nethers but her clit felt thicker beneath her fingers when she found it. She moaned and closed her eyes as her fingers worked against her sensitive nub and two such fingers slipped inside herself. Whether because of the numerous, previous attempts fueling her or the way the cool air constantly reminded her of how easily she could be caught with her weeping cunt in the air, her clit throbbed against her fingers and her walls clenched in mounting delight much faster now.

Dizzy with pleasure, Robin began to mutter under her breath as her busy motions drove her closer to completion. Chrom's name escaped her lips in a quiet mantra, followed by pleas for all sorts of dirty, delicious acts. Her voice was breathy and slightly high-pitched as she worked feverishly for her end. A few desperate sobs choked in her throat and she thrust her hips repeatedly into her pumping fingers. The knowledge of what she must look like painted her face and chest a soft pink, but only served to drive her hips harder and more insistently.

Her peak approached again and she heard herself repeating Chrom's name, professing her love for him, uttering phrases of fealty and devotion as she neared the precipice at last. Her eyes screwed shut more tightly and she clenched her teeth around ragged gasps of _need_ as her poor, tired fingers moved with desperation, pleading in their own way for relief. The sensitive skin was slick with liquid desire, but even there was starting to feel the raw sensitivity of too much sensation, too much friction. She _had_ to finish this time. No further attempts would be possible without hurting herself more than she brought pleasure.

Robin climbed for a third time, mind almost blank from constant stimulation. She felt her body clench around her fingers and her thighs burn with inevitable orgasm and for a moment, she was convinced this was it. Her breathy mantra had grown into ragged, deep tones of want as she sought an end to this unyielding need. At long, long last the muscles beneath her clit tightened under her ministrations and her hips trembled as she

Lost it. Again. A sob of misery fell from her lips and she rubbed and thrust her fingers desperately, trying to find the momentum that was slipping through her fingers.

"No, no, **_no_**! Gods... damnit! Please just let me _cum_ , **_please_**!"

Futile whispers burned her throat as tears streaked down her face. Why couldn't she find satisfaction? What was she doing wrong? She buried her face in the pillow and screamed.

"Robin, is everything okay?"

Panic thundered in Robin's chest as the unexpected voice met her ears. She rolled onto her back and frantically covered herself with the blanket. Discretely, she tried to smooth her nightgown out beneath it. Guiltily she realized her panties were still abandoned on the floor, but she'd had the good sense to let them fall on the side of her bed furthest from the entrance of her tent. Perhaps, if she were lucky, neither Chrom nor her uninvited guest would notice.

"I'm fine, thank you. Just... overtired and restless."

"Hmm, can't sleep?"

Tharja's voice became clearer now that Robin was no longer distracted by the sudden fear of being caught in an embarrassing position. She had hoped her visitor would be Chrom, perhaps _he_ could solve this _**issue**_ , but it shouldn't have been all that surprising that it was Tharja. The dark mage had promised to return and check on the formerly sick Tactictian and she never broke a promise. At least not where Robin was concerned.

"Unfortunately. It's probably just leftover side effects from my illness."

It was dark in the white-haired woman's tent, making it difficult to track Tharja's movements. She hummed in something Robin assumed was sympathy (but was a little too bemused for her to trust entirely) and it sounded much closer than her first questions had. The Tactician stared pointedly into the darkness, searching with eyes that were quickly becoming adjusted to the lack of light, and a solid shadow looming over her bed alerted her (not without a rush of adrenaline as her heart leapt to her throat in surprise) to the dark mage's proximity. Clearing her throat in an attempt to smother the yelp of fright that had died there, Robin shifted slightly away from the approaching Plegian.

"Yes, it's-- ah, a nuisance, but I was just about to fall asleep before you entered, so I would like very much to get back to that."

 _No, what I'd "like very much" is to masturbate into a restful coma but my body doesn't seem interested in cooperating_ , an icy voice whispered in her ear. She squirmed at the decidedly dark tone of that voice. It wasn't wrong, certainly, but the last thing she wanted was to be thinking about _that_ while Tharja leered down at her in the dark.

"Oh, Robin, you sound flustered." Without ceremony, Tharja sat at the edge of Robin's bed and placed a worried hand on the other woman's face. Robin was startled at how comforting the gesture was and more than a little embarrassed at the way her head reflexively tilted back as if waiting for a kiss. "Are you sure nothing's bothering you?"

Silently the Tactician thanked the gods for how dark the tent was right now, lest Tharja see the way her face turned red at that perfectly innocent question. The images her mind conjured in response-- Robin's ass in the air and her hips thrusting into her own hand-- were anything but innocent. The warmth of the Plegian's hand on her face did nothing to settle the whirring thoughts as she imagined Tharja's hands taking over her own, helping her find the release that so long eluded her. In the dark, Robin could almost make out the shape of Tharja's face, soft and inviting, begging to let her explore the Tactician's body with that perpetually-frowning mouth. Perhaps, with the right combination of the other woman's tongue and--

"Yes!" Robin paled at the forceful sound that left her lips and cleared her throat again. "Yes. I am positive nothing is bothering me. Besides this lack of sleep, that is. I should really try to get back to it, Tharja. Thank you for your concern, but all I need is a good night's rest."

 _And to be split open until I can barely walk_. The voice returned unbidden and Robin winced as if the dark mage could actually hear her wanton thoughts. A quiet giggle answered her, making the Tactician's ears burn with embarrassment as the fear of being heard grew in the (utterly _unreasonable_ ) belief that Tharja had heard.

"Are you _absolutely sure_ , Robin? Because I couldn't help but notice that you didn't seem too interested in sleep when you were riding your fingers in the dark before."~

Robin's stomach _clenched_ with anger and embarrassment at the realization that she had been watched. She sat up, dizzy with betrayal, and hands reaching in the dark, ready to throttle the invasive Plegian and teach her a lesson. Tharja met the angry Tactician's hands and clasped them with her own. As if on reflex, purple energy pulsed from the dark mage's hands and Robin felt her strength buckle. It wasn't enough to drain her, but it kept her threats of physical violence empty and her magic just far enough out of reach.

"Robin, I'm sorry! I didn't mean t--"

"How dare you? _How_ **_dare_** _you_?! I've let your _disgusting_ obsession go unchallenged before because I assumed you _knew_ that if you crossed the line--"

"It's not like I _intended_ to catch you! I told you I would check on you later and when I came to your tent, I heard you gasping and moaning! I thought you were still sick and I wanted to help, but then I realized what you were doing and..."

 _Bull **shit**_ was the angry, wounded thought that came in response. If Robin didn't know any better (and really, she _didn't_ know any better), she would have accused Tharja of doing something to her intentionally to make her so needy, so desperate for release, just so the dark mage could sit back and watch. But somewhere, the rational part of the Tactician's brain was telling her _no_. That this was a simple misunderstanding. That this was _Robin's fault_ for deciding to risk being caught. She couldn't take it out on Tharja for catching her when it was a possibility she knew all along. Huffing her frustration, Robin released her quaking hands from Tharja's grasp and crossed them over her chest.

"I apologize for accusing you." Her tone was flat and defeated, much like a child who'd been scolded. Tharja backed off (if only slightly) and turned away from her.

"Do..." Tharja's demeanor changed in a way Robin had never experienced. She was always withdrawn and tended to slouch in on herself, sure, but the way the Plegian's shoulders fell made Robin's stomach twist with guilt. "Do you really think I'm disgusting?"

The breath left the Tactician's lungs at the sound of the other woman's voice, so small and dejected, whispered as though she actually struggled to form the words. Guilt gnawed at Robin's chest and she found her previous anger and embarrassment dissolve. Instinct told her to comfort the dark mage, to lay a gentle hand on her shoulder and reassure her. Warning, on the other hand, reminded her that she needed to be careful, that such intimate behavior would only fuel the fire of Tharja's obsession and that was the last thing she needed. When the Plegian turned back toward Robin and the white-haired female could just make out the seeking, uncertain frame of the dark mage's face, her resolve vanished.

"No, Tharja. I don't think you're disgusting. I... I misspoke out of anger. I'm sorry. That wasn't fair of me."

It was clear that her statement had lifted Tharja's spirits some, but the hurt was still there. Robin had to admit it hadn't been her best apology, nor her most heartfelt one, but she had tried to find some middle ground between earning Tharja's unending ire and fanning the flames of her obsession. Still, Robin would be lying if she said she liked the awkward silence that fell around them and she found herself shifting to turn toward her guest.

"I... never thanked you for your concern earlier, or the tea you made. It certainly did the trick. I haven't felt sick since I fell asleep after and I'm very grateful for that. Naga knows what might have happened if I'd gone two days without proper sleep or food. Or worse, if I'd gotten the whole camp sick. So... thank you. Tharja."

The Tactician tried to sound a little more earnest this time, particularly because she was genuinely grateful, and this seemed to smooth out whatever lingering doubt the Plegian had. Robin could _feel_ the grin on the other woman's face, even if she couldn't properly see it. As if to strengthen the image, Tharja hummed that pleased little note and laid a hand on Robin's thigh over the blanket. She couldn't be entirely certain if those fingers had simply squeezed the muscle affectionately or if the _clench_ she felt in her thighs had been entirely her own doing, but Robin felt her face burn and she had to turn away to hide the embarrassment Tharja probably couldn't even see.

"I'm _so_ glad you're feeling better, Robin. You know I would do _anything_ to serve you. I'm happy just knowing I did something to help."

Robin's mouth went dry at the phrase _serve you_ and she swallowed thickly. The need in her gut hadn't abated in the slightest, merely bided its time in the background as she dealt with other things more immediately pressing. But now the thought of Tharja _pressing_ into her and _serving_ this damned need was filling her head and making her dizzy. Shaking her head, she mentally admonished herself for such thoughts. Robin was _married_ , she had _Chrom_ for such intimate desires. No matter how willing and wanton and _just oh so delighted to please_ Tharja would most certainly be, the Tactician simply couldn't bring herself to take advantage of the Plegian that way.

"I'm-- I'm glad to have you, Tharja." Which wasn't exactly what she'd meant to say and she regretted it the moment she felt the other woman's fingers tighten around her thigh, but she smiled all the same and patted a thinly-clad shoulder. "But if you'll excuse me, I really need to--"

"I could help you in... _other ways_ , you know?"

Robin bit her lip until she was certain it would bleed.

" _Other_ ways? I'm not sure I follow."

"I heard you earlier, Robin. When I thought you were still sick. Those quiet little pleas you made..."

A moan thrummed in the Plegian's throat and Robin had to fight the way her breath hitched. Embarrassment burned stronger, but the sound of Tharja's voice, moaning for _her_ , made it difficult to focus.

"Tharja, I'm not sure that's--"

"I wanted _so_ much to come to your aid, Robin, to ease the frustration in your voice."

Tharja's hand on her thigh slid up and for a moment, Robin thought (silently, mentally, _begged_ ) that she would rest over the apex of her thighs. Instead those slender fingers continued up and up, passing Robin's breasts (but not without leaving them tingling at the slight touch, aching for more) and tugging insistently at the blanket. The Tactician should have stopped her, should have stopped _**all** of this_ , but the burning in her throat and the weakness in her limbs from Tharja's earlier spell made it difficult to think or protest. The dark mage's hand pulled the blanket away from Robin's torso, let it pool in her lap, and rested on the white-haired woman's clavical, the small expanse of skin exposed in the neckline of her nightgown.

"What I wouldn't have given to taste you, to help you find release with my tongue..."

The fingers on her collar moved up suddenly and grasped Robin's shoulder, pulling her in roughly so that Tharja could steal a kiss. Heat raged in the Tactician's core and her arousal from before returned with a consuming fire. The dark mage tasted sweet against her lips, parted in a gasp of surprise at the aggression the Plegian displayed, and then filled with the exploration of Tharja's tongue. A moan met Robin's lips and she had a hard time placing whether or not it was hers. For a moment, she was lost in the other woman's kiss, too dizzy with need to think, but then Tharja's hand was sliding down her clothed front, drawing the blanket down her legs, and trying to work its way between her thighs and reason briefly broke through the haze of lust.

"Tharja, stop!"

She was panting, shoulders and chest heaving with each exchange, when she finally pulled from Tharja's embrace. Robin wasn't sure when her hand had found the other woman's shoulder again, but she braced herself against it as she tried to catch her breath. A pouty sound left Tharja's mouth and the dark mage leaned in, pressing chaste kisses to the other's mouth, cheek, jaw, and ear.

"Why did you stop me, Robin? I only want to make you feel good."~

The declaration was nearly her undoing but Robin shook her head and pushed Tharja away.

"We can't do this, Tharja. I have a _husband_. I _love_ him."

Tharja groaned and huffed in annoyance.

"Who said anything about _love_ , Robin? I'm talking about _sex_ and _pleasing you_. You don't have to love me to enjoy me, right?"

Robin was not convinced.

"I took a _vow_ , Tharja. To love and _honor_ Chrom. I don't think fucking another woman fits that definition."

The forward, abrasive language surprised even Robin but she chalked it up to the heat still pulsing from her soaked sex. She could feel the regret that tugged at her when she refused Tharja's advances, some secret part of her filling her head with sweet images and encouraging her to take this further. She could not, however, silence the reason in her head or the love in her heart that told her this was _wrong_ , that she was _**betraying**_ her husband by even entertaining the idea of continuing. She had to swallow around the pool of saliva that had filled her throat, making her ache for the taste of the dark mage again.

"Robin..."~

The thickly sweet sound of the Plegian's voice made Robin's skin crawl in anticipation.

"I don't think Chrom will mind you having a little _fun_ with someone else. After all, you aren't doing it out of spite or because you don't love him, right? You just need a little... help."

Tharja's hand was on Robin's thigh again, fingers more insistent in their groping. Her thumb danced dangerously close to where the Tactician's sex was bare and throbbing. The white-haired woman's lips parted around a moan and she shuddered. She shook her head slightly, trying to remain clear-headed but now the dark mage was leaning in again, all lips and tongue and teeth along her neck.

"You don't _love_ me and that's okay. You just _want_ me."

Between exploratory kisses and nips of Robin's flesh, Tharja whispered words of encouragement, urging the Tactician to fall under her spell. Robin wanted to resist, to push the other woman away, but when she tried, she found her hands sliding along the soft material of the Plegian's body stocking just over her hips. Her fingertips grasped and pulled at the covering, drawing Tharja closer (or perhaps trying to tear the material apart) as the other woman's teeth sank into her neck where it met her shoulder.

"You _need_ me, Robin. You need me to cool the fire in your belly. Need me to help you _sleep_ after I exhaust every ounce of your strength."

Robin found herself nodding in agreement, shifting her hips to slide down the bed a little, and dragging her hands up Tharja's back to pull her down, too. The Plegian hummed a dark giggle as she followed, the hand at Robin's thigh taking advantage of the shift to find purchase where her inner thigh met her curls. The Tactician's hips bucked at the sensation of another's hands so close to her core, her clit throbbing for attention.

"Isn't that right, Robin?" The purr of her name in Tharja's mouth made her own water and Robin's nodding became frantic. Searching hands found the dark mage's chin and cupped her face, pulling her up toward Robin's own. "Do you need me, my love?" Soft, sweet lips pressed a chaste kiss to the Tactician's mouth and Robin parted her lips in a silent plea for more.

"Say it."

Robin's eyes opened as she tried to focus on the shadowed figure of her would-be lover. Her words had taken an aggressive tone, making the Tactician's heart flutter in a way she couldn't exactly analyze.

"What?"

"You heard me, Robin. I want you to say it. Say you _need me_. Tell me you _want me_ , that you want _this_. I can't _help you_ if you don't tell me that you want it."

"Tharja, I--"

Something like reason railed in her head, reminding her of her earlier resolve to refuse this tryst. Robin opened her mouth to give that feeling voice, but then Tharja's fingers between her legs _shifted_ , barely grazing the hooded, aching clit hidden in her folds. The sensation made her squeal, actually squeal out loud into the dark, and her hips lifted for more.

"I want it!" The words were out of her mouth before Robin knew what she was saying. She was panting with the effort, with the overwhelming need to feel more, and a soft chuckle met her ears. "Ooh, so _close_."~ The Plegian taunted and Robin wasn't sure if the other meant the declaration Robin had given or how _close_ she was to coming undone. Another chaste kiss was pressed to her mouth and Robin whined at the teasing Tharja still used against her. She didn't want this light, playful nonsense. She wanted Tharja to taste her, bring her release with that daring, delving tongue, to fill her with her fingers and mark her with her teeth.

Tharja hummed and dragged her teeth along Robin's jaw, sending a shudder down the Tactician's spine to think she'd been reading her thoughts.

"This is your last chance, Robin. Tell me what you want and I'll give you everything your heart desires."

"I wa--" A ragged gasp left her when Tharja's teeth found her neck again, sharp and demanding. "Tharja! I want _you_! Please let me feel you. Please help me fill this need and come!"

A hum of approval answered Robin's pleas and she felt a soft kiss meet her lips.

" _That's_ what I wanted to hear."~

A low, growling moan vibrated against Robin's neck as Tharja's teeth were replaced by her tongue. The wet heat on her skin made the Tactician shiver and her eyes rolled back as she sank into the mattress. The dark mage's hands on her swollen folds dipped deeper, one slender fingertip applying sweet pressure to her clit with slow, wide circles. Robin's mouth hung open around a voiceless cry and her hips thrust of their own accord. The earlier, painful hyper-sensitivity was gone, replaced only with an ache to be touched, teased, and toyed with. Tharja was more than happy to oblige as she slipped her hands under the Tactician's nightgown, earning a pitiful whimper as the Plegian's fingers left the pleading woman's sex to lift the last slip of clothing that covered Robin's body.  
  
The pair of women sat up in tandem, moving in sync as Tharja tugged Robin's nightgown over her head. She dropped it to join the previously discarded panties. Somewhere in the quickly-fading, logical part of the Tactician's head, she wondered if Tharja had been watching when she first pulled them off. The thought _should_ have bothered her, _should_ have made Robin want to push the dark mage away and demand she leave her tent. Instead, the mental image of Tharja watching from the shadows as Robin fucked herself with lustful abandon only made the goosebumps along her arms tingle in further anticipation.  
  
Having freed her intended of the offending clothing, Tharja threaded her fingers in the Tactician's hair and yanked gently. The girlish gasp that left Robin's lips made the Plegian's lashes flutter and she pulled the other woman close for another searing, claiming kiss. Heat burned in Tharja's throat at how pliant the object of her ~~_obsession_ **_addiction_**~~ affection was. That Robin had been so easily convinced to _give in_ to the dark mage's encouragement was certainly a surprise, but a pleasant one at that. Tharja had imagined all sorts of coercion and threats of hexing and mind control before finally reaching this stage (had even bewitched the Tactician's tea to make her _ache_ but unable to reach orgasm unless Tharja herself was there to _help her along_ just in case), but _this_ was pure, sweet bliss. Having Robin all to herself at long last, willing and enthusiastic in the Plegian's care, was a kind of heaven she had never dared to hope for.  
  
Robin's hands reached out, searching in the dark until they found the circlet that pressed firmly over the dark mage's hair. A noise of surprise met the Tactician's ears as she slid soft fingers through Tharja's hair, caressing upward and bringing the circlet with her until it was lifted and pulled free. The white-haired woman delighted in the shiver that followed from the one possessing her mouth in a kiss and for a moment she considered flipping their positions and taking control. Such thoughts were quickly erased when Tharja found the apex of her thighs once more and pulled them roughly apart while the pair still sat upright on the mattress. Eagerly spreading her knees further, Robin settled her heels on either side of the mattress and shifted her bottom down a few inches to open herself up to the other woman's grasping hands.  
  
"Gods you taste like Heaven, Robin..." The words were spoken against that woman's lips with sultry desire, voice breathless as their kiss was paused. Robin was panting in the dark, but couldn't help the grin on her face as she watched Tharja's chest rise and fall at the same rate. Something about seeing the usually quiet, reserved (if unsettling and creepy) mage so undone made the Tactician's blood pump a little faster. Leaning forward, Robin stole a kiss from her "guest" and moaned when Tharja's hand curled around her inner thigh, groping and fondling with reverent care.  
  
Following the curve of the dark mage's chest and shoulders with her fingers, the reigning Queen of Ylisse let her hands come to rest at the back of her lover's neck as she fiddled with the paneled collar that rested there. Even through the leather material Robin could feel Tharja swallow as she found purchase in the two panels that hooked together and slid them apart. The hand that played with the sensitive skin of Robin's inner thigh dug pointed fingertips into the muscle, carving little half-moon shapes in the skin. The Tactician inhaled sharply and dropped the leather collar from her hands. Need rising, Robin wrapped the fingers of one hand around Tharja's exposed throat and _squeezed_ ever so softly. The muscles beneath her fingers flexed as the dark mage swallowed and Robin grabbed Tharja's other hand and pulled it over and against her weeping sex.  
  
"Here. Now. I _need_ you, Tharja. Give me what you promised."  
  
A faint, breathy laugh thrummed under Robin's hand where it lay on the other woman's throat, but Tharja obliged nonetheless without further comment. Long fingers parted the folds that ached with need and the tip of one finger teased and swirled around the entrance that seeped down Robin's thighs. A restrained moan blossomed on the white-haired woman's lips as she leaned her head back and closed her eyes, unable to resist melting into the sensation of the other woman's touch. Tharja cooed in delight at the way Robin so eagerly relaxed and rewarded her paramore with a swipe of her thumb over the Tactician's clit. It was hard not to drink in the gasps and sighs that fell without restriction from Robin's mouth and the dark mage only too happily abided the unspoken request.  
  
First one, then a second finger spread the inner walls of Robin's sex, pumping in a slow, lazy rhythm designed to tease at least as much as it pleased. The white-haired woman breathed out a harsh moan as the sensations made her head spin. The fingers that had rested on Tharja's throat now splayed out upon the mattress for support while the other kept a firm grasp on the other woman's wrist, keeping her hand in place lest she attempt any further teasing escapes from her "chore." Robin clenched at Tharja's wrist tightly, pumping those fingers into herself at a more insistent speed. Now that she finally had what she wanted, the Tactician had no intention of letting her need go unfulfilled any longer.  
  
"Your thumb--" A long, shaky exhale. "Th-tharja, your thumb... on my clit-- g-gods above!-- **now**!" A delighted giggle filled Robin's ears at those words and she felt Tharja lean in close, her lips and tongue teasing her ear.  
  
"And here I thought _I_ would be the one conducting this little _ritual_. You're so _eager_ , Robin. Do you have any idea how _fucking perfect_ you sound right now?"~  
  
Chaste kisses met the Tactician's jawline, trailing down her neck until teeth replaced the contact with a sharp bite along the side. Robin cried out in painful pleasure, her cunt clenching tightly on Tharja's fingers. Another throaty laugh left the Plegian who finally acquiesced to the monarch's pleas by twisting her fingers and pressing the pad of her thumb in quick, short circles. A low, unintelligible mess of sound left Robin at the heightened pleasure of being filled and teased _just so_ , her hips grinding wantonly into the digits that brought her such delight.  
  
"Tharja-haa _aaaahn_!" The free hand of the Plegian fisted in Robin's hair then, tightening and pulling her forward into a waiting mouth that stole her breath with unrestrained desire. Before the Tactician could get a word in edge wise, she suddenly peaked ( _gods_ **_yes_**!) and her eyelids danced with stars as the orgasm raced through her veins. She didn't know when she started crying out, the sounds muffled and wet as they died in Tharja's mouth, but Robin's throat ached in protest long before she realized she was exhausting it. Trembling, tired, sore thighs still thrust an inelegant rhythm along fingers that fucked her through the waves of ecstacy and slowed only when Robin's tummy began to seize in warning of a cramp.  
  
The sensations finally died, faded out in a tingling that left her limbs as weak as they had first felt after Tharja's reflexive hex of defense. Robin panted haggardly in the wake of finally ( ** _fi.na.lly_** ) finding satisfaction. Her vision swam for several more seconds as the light-headedness of being lost to her arousal began to clear. The lips that claimed hers mere moments ago had released their possession, giving way to gentle, chaste presses of sweet warmth. If not for the very obvious remaining presence of the dark mage, Robin was certain she would collapse in instant slumber.  
  
As it was, the Plegian stayed close, dark, half-lidded eyes gazing through the shadows at her exhausted lover. A wide, cat's grin was splayed across her features at the sight of Robin well spent beside her. She _reveled_ in the unexpected success of the evening, drank in the sounds and scents of the freshly-sated Tactician whose aura pulsed with a decidedly purple hint. Tharja's thighs burned at the echoing memory of Robin's cries and fading taste on her lips. With a tap of her thumb against the monarch's mons pubis to alert her that the Plegian intended to move, she pulled her fingers from the wet chasm of her paramour's warmth and plunged them into her mouth without hesitation.  
  
The way Tharja moaned her rapture at the taste of Robin's slick need made the Tactician's face turn red anew. Now that the dizzying desire for release had been fulfilled, she was lost in a mounting embarrassment and awkwardness that settles heavily on her shoulders and in her chest. She had no idea what to say now, no smart comeback or aggressive demand to ease the tension of the silence between them or send Tharja away. Swallowing thickly, Robin ran her fingers back through long white tresses and breathed deeply to slow her racing heart.  
  
"Tharja, I..." She paled at how pathetic and uncomfortable she sounded. "That was-- it was wonderful, Tharja. Thank you." The knowing, dark hum that came in response did nothing to calm the Tactician's unease and she found herself clearing her throat for want of anything else to do. "I think, at last, I'll be able to sleep now."  
  
A dry, sharp laugh answered this statement and Robin felt her stomach clench as Tharja popped her middle finger-- now clean of the last vestiges of Robin's wetness-- out of her mouth. Another hum, bemused and seductive thrummed from the Plegian's throat as she caressed the white-haired woman's face before wrapping that same hand against the side of Robin's neck.  
  
"Oh, my _love_ , wherever did you get the idea I would let you sleep _now_?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Robin gets a bit... ah, aggressive in this. Perhaps Grima!Robin is poking through more than she thought.
> 
> The whole thing almost took a completely different turn that I may use as an alternate ending or for a completely different fic if I get around to it. For now, enjoy the unperverted (pun absolutely intended) version that follows the original direction I had in mind.

Robin stared dumbly at Tharja.  
  
"Er, but you said--"  
  
"I _said_ **_after_** I've exhausted all your senses. I am _far_ from finished with you, my Robin."  
  
Dread spread across the monarch's chest and ice slipped down her spine. She opened her mouth to say something, to make some retort, but found her lips sealed around Tharja's invading tongue. The moan that sounded between them surprised her when she realized it was her own and despite her earlier discomfort (and body-wracking orgasm), Robin could feel her heart fluttering and her body yearning for more. The hand that had rested on her throat slid down the length of her chest and grasped firmly at Robin's left breast, warming the ice in her back into pooling heat and eliciting another moan. Tharja's name fell from her lips when they parted briefly and Robin felt her arms wrapping around the Plegian's neck of their own accord. Vaguely, in the ever diminishing rational mind of the brightest Tactician the Shepherds had ever known, Robin wondered why sharing this bed with the other woman felt more natural than even doing so with Chrom.  
  
Before the thought could find purchase in her consciousness, though, Tharja was standing from the bed and pulling from Robin's embrace to reach behind herself and unhook the black leather and gold trimmed top that hugged her breasts over the body stocking. A soft gasp left the Tactician's lips at the sight of the Plegian's not-quite-nude form and she watched with rapt attention as the article of clothing was discarded to the floor. A hum of appreciation, more than a little drunk on the feeling of being watched with such reverence by her one true love, left the dark mage as she grasped the hem of her body stocking and tore it open without pretense.  
  
The material came apart in her hands with ease and she tore it down her front, opening a line of exposed skin between her breasts that disappeared into the top of the mage's skirt. Without removing the last full, intact strip of clothing, Tharja yanked again as the stocking gave a satisfying tearing sound as it was ripped asunder. The waist of her skirt proved to be a more troublesome obstacle than the Plegian anticipated, so she strode forward to Robin still seated on the mattress. With a soft chuckle at the almost slack-jawed look on the other woman's face, Tharja stopped when her pelvis was mere inches from the parted lips of her intended. Clearing her throat seemed to snap the Tactician out of whatever reverie she'd been lost in because she blushed a pretty shade of pink and turned her body to fully face the dark mage from the mattress.  
  
"Give me your hands, Robin."  
  
It was a gentle request rather than a harsh demand and the Tactician obliged without protest. The hum that met Robin's ears made them burn in embarrassment at the strange satisfaction she found in pleasing the other woman, but she had little time to think about it as her hands were guided beneath the Plegian's skirt. The embarrassment that had burned her ears raced across her chest and face at the close intimacy of this position and Robin found herself utterly at a loss for how to respond. Her tactical genius was useless in such a foreign battlefield and she looked up at Tharja for guidance.  
  
Soothing hands found stray strands of white and brushed them behind Robin's ear as an inviting thumb stroked her jaw. Hands found her own between the mage's legs and pressed the torn material of Tharja's body stocking into them. Robin rubbed her thumbs against the soft nylon with curious strokes but when she made no move to do anything further, Tharja giggled.  
  
"Tear it off me, Robin. I don't want to be separated from you anymore."  
  
The Tactician's gaze fell in further embarrassment at the request and the tone of Tharja's voice as she said it. Her hands moved as they were instructed, the nylon ripping without much force as it came away from the dark mage's thighs and caught at the golden rings just above her knees. Sensing Robin's hesitation, Tharja lifted her bare (but for the remainder of the stocking) right foot and rested it on the mattress. She bent to remove the ring herself, but was delighted when Robin seemed to catch on and wrapped her fingers around it instead. Their gazes met and held fast in the dark, sensing one another without really seeing, as Robin slid the thighlet down the length of the mage's leg. Tharja would be lying if she said she didn't find the act somehow more intimate than when she'd made the Tactician squirm and cry against her fingers.  
  
Loving hands caressed the monarch's face with cupped palms as Tharja placed her right foot back on the ground and lifted her left one. Robin imitated the Plegian's hum of content at the soft touch of the other's hands and she dutifully removed the final ring. Free of further obstruction, the stocking was taken up once more and, with a sharp yank, finally pulled completely free from Tharja's body. Cool air (and more than a little anticipation) lifted goosebumps along the mage's skin and she dropped wordlessly to straddle Robin's waist. A startled exhaled was forced from the Tactician's lips as the weight of Tharja's descent collapsed against her, but she recovered quickly with exploratory hands caressing the other's now-exposed back.  
  
A needy whimper encouraged Robin's gentle ministrations, the sound punctuated by a roll of the Plegian's hips. With nothing left between them, the white-haired woman was free to press forward into the pillowy softness of Tharja's generous breasts. Surprising herself at the ease with which she lavished attention on the other woman's flesh, Robin let her lips and tongue trace tentative circles between the warmth that all but smothered her face. The dark mage's feminine sighs made the Tactician shiver with the knowledge that no other had ever been witness to this side of her. It emboldened her actions as she bared her teeth and dragged them along the mounds of flesh, taking hold of them with jagged circles as she bit down.  
  
The gyrations of Tharja's hips told her she was doing just fine and the hands that swept across the other woman's back now joined her lips in teasing the mage's breasts. Both hands grasped and cradled the heavy weight of each breast, lifting them to wrap splayed fingers around their fronts. Robin's palms brushed flat against stiff nipples, earning her a keening whine from the woman seated in her lap. Looking up into her lover's face, she drowned at the way the shadows hid most of her features now that she was so close and so exposed. Wrapping one hand around the other's waist to pull her tightly against her chest, Robin reached out the other hand and _focused_ on the molecules of heat which surrounded them.  
  
"Robin, what are you--"  
  
"Shhh, hold still, Tharja."  
  
For a split second, she was convinced the dark mage's earlier spell would prohibit her from doing this, but then several candles around her tent suddenly flared to life, illuminating their surroundings. With a grin, Robin looked up at her naked "guest," finally able to get her fill of the dark beauty held in her arms. The face which looked down on her was different than any Robin had ever witnessed from the Plegian. Her perpetual scowl was softened with half-lidded eyes and her pale cheeks were warmed over with a heated blush. She fidgeted slightly at the Tactician's intent stare, but made an effort not to look away. A lustful smile played about her lips and Robin leaned up to capture it with her own. A pleased sigh slipped through the dark mage's nostrils as she met her paramour's kiss and opened compliantly for the other's darting tongue.  
  
A possessive, grasping hand delved into Robin's soft, white hair, cupping the back of her head and cradling her close. The other hand snaked around the base of the Tactician's neck and wrapped fully around with the length of her arm to rest her hand on the furthest shoulder, as if determined to keep her captive. Cool palms slid along Tharja's upper thighs, thumbs stroking teasing, tickling lines where her pelvis met them and making the Plegian roll her hips in approval. Robin flicked her tongue in a dance into the other woman's mouth, a grin tugging at the corner of her lips when Tharja panted more heavily and struggled to meet her rhythm. When the dark mage could take no more, she simply thrust her tongue as far as it would reach into Robin's mouth and took possession there as well.  
  
Parting at last around heavy, heaving gasps for air, the pair sat in breathy silence with foreheads pressed together. Tharja's eyes squeezed shut and she smiled, a soft, gentle thing that seemed much more toned down than befit the setting. Robin watched her, a bemused smile of her own settled on her face, and nudged her nose against the dark mage's own.  
  
"What's on that dark and mysterious mind, witch?"  
  
"Hee, nothing at all, Robin.~ Just imagining all the things I plan to do to you and wondering which I want first."  
  
Robin lifted an eyebrow in curious unease.  
  
"Should I be concerned?"  
  
"Hmm... maybe. But only because having you helpless and at uncertain at my mercy makes you smell so _delicious_."  
  
The Tactician swallowed thickly at the thought, her face warming over in embarrassment. Before she could voice a retort, Tharja had grasped her wrists and had begun pushing her back. The position of the Plegian's knee kept Robin from laying back across the short end of the mattress. Instead, the mage turned them in tandem so that when Tharja had finished pressing them back, Robin found herself laying on her pillow again. Looking up into the clearer, if still slightly shadowed features of the witch felt different than when the other woman had leaned over her in the dark. It was more intimate, somehow, and made the blood in the Tactician's veins run quicker. As if of their own accord, Robin's finger trailed down Tharja's face tenderly then turned to tuck a stray lock of black hair behind her ear. The motion was met with a shiver and the Ylissean couldn't help but notice the way her lover's breath had stalled.  
  
"Robin?"  
  
"You're so beautiful, Tharja. I don't think I've ever stopped to really notice before."  
  
Tharja stammered briefly at those words and her face turned a dark red. Robin found herself laughing out loud at how unseated she had managed to make the other and the hand that had fixed the woman's hair curled around her chin and pulled her lips down to meet the Tactician's own. A sigh of contentment answered where words had failed the witch, but the sound was quickly replaced with a gasp of surprise when tender fingers on Tharja's chin turned into her hair and pulled tight, yanking their faces apart.  
  
Lifting her hips, Robin gyrated under the dark mage's weight and grinding into the warmth that sat directly over her own. A shaky moan left the other's lips and she leaned forward to rest her palms on either side of Robin's head. As she leaned, she pressed her face into the space between the Tactician's neck and shoulder, pressing hot kisses and sharp nips along the skin. Robin's mouth hung open as she moaned darkly, her hips thrusting again. She yelped when she felt teeth sink into her neck proper, certain she would smell blood when Tharja let go. The thought made her mind swim with unexpected delight and she dug sharp fingernails into the other woman's upper arms. Approval thrummed against her throat in the form of an eager moan and the dark mage began to weave a trail of wet kisses and sharp bites down along Robin's collarbone, chest, and breasts.  
  
All thought left the Tactician's genius mind as she lost herself to the contrast of soft, tender kissing and harsh, possessive biting. Tharja's mouth worked over each breast in turn, making Robin twist and arch and moan for more. Teeth dragged down over her left nipple, rigid and marbled beneath the other's ministrations and Robin saw white. Her hips buckled repeatedly and her fingers buried in Tharja's black hair, shoving the Plegian to the right breast and demanding equal attention. A deep chuckle rumbled in the mage's throat as she complied, replacing tongue and teeth with twisting, pulling fingers on the wet, abused left nipple. Heavy moans were interrupted by soft cries of Tharja's name, encouraging her further descent as she began to kiss and suckle on the under side of Robin's breast.  
  
"Why... how do you... do this so... easily?" The words were difficult to form around heavy, panting breaths.  
  
"Hee hee, do _what_ , my Robin?"  
  
"Make me... come undone like this? I can barely... think straight."  
  
"Oh, but that's _exactly_ what I want. I don't want you thinking about anything, about anyone but me. You're all _**mine**_ , Robin, even if it's just for right now."  
  
Robin wanted to say something, to protest or make some declaration, but Tharja was kissing her again, claiming her mouth. Fingers trailed down the Tactician's sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake as they danced ever closer to her trapped thighs. The white-haired woman lifted her hips in a taunting roll, only to feel sharp fingernails pressing into her flesh. A startled gasp escaped her as Tharja released her mouth and shifted slowly down the Tactician's legs. Robin watched as the witch wriggled her knees between the ones she had previously trapped and the Ylissean opened willingly. A contemplative look came over Tharja then as she considered the long, strappy skirt she wore with a tap of her forefinger against her lower lip. With a grin, she shifted forward a little, yanked Robin's wrist up toward her, and pulled the Tactician back into an upright position.  
  
"Help me with this, won't you? I don't think I need it anymore."~  
  
"You're awfully demanding for someone extolling how much she wanted to serve me not that long ago."  
  
"Eeheehee.~ That was a whole orgasm ago, Robin, and I served you plenty then, didn't I? Are you going to go hold it against me if I want a little repayment?"  
  
Despite the light tinge to her cheeks, Robin rolled her eyes at the coy tone of voice with which Tharja spoke those words. She wrapped her arms around the witch's waist nonetheless and grasped the thin waist of the material that rested on her hips. It stretched with very little effort and Robin slid it slowly up the length of Tharja's body, pivoting her hands to drag her fingernails along the other woman's back with harsh pressure to make her gasp. Soon she was free of the long cloth that covered little more than her sex and rump, left in nothing but a pair of black cotton panties that had been soaked through some time between Robin's first and second attempt to pleasure herself. Not that Tactician needed to know what she'd been doing or how long she'd been watching, of course.  
  
Before Robin could sit back down (or distract her with that pretty mouth again), Tharja was pulling on the woman's wrist to guide her hands beneath the black fabric that was all that was left between them. The look on the Ylissean queen's face was nearly the witch's undoing but she pushed insistently, covering Robin's hand through the panties and pressing on the fingers hidden there. Leaning forward again, she sucked the Tactician's lower lip between her teeth and bit down just hard enough to make her paramour gasp.  
  
"I think you know what I want, Robin. Or do you like it better when I tell you in vivid detail? You've had plenty of practice tonight, haven't you? Do you think you could manage on someone else this time?"~  
  
"Filthy little stalker. I should have known you were watching the whole time."  
  
There should have been more bite to the insult, but the burn on Robin's face was mirrored by one in her core and she couldn't find the energy to be angry. She twisted her fingers to dive between the other woman's lower lips, middle fingertip swirling and swiping in search of their prize. She knew she'd found it when she brushed against solid and thick and Tharja's hips bucked into her hand shakily.  
  
"I can't help it you put on such a lovely show for me." A gasp punctuated the last word. "I d-did say I would be back to check on you."  
  
"Always the ever-present shadow, hounding my steps. Do you sit back and watch when Chrom fucks me, too? Burning with jealousy that I chose him over you?"  
  
The heated exchange did nothing to deter the gasping, greedy moans that Tharja let slip between them. Her hips moved in time to the quick, small circles Robin pressed into the other's soaking cloth. Each circling swipe was followed by a teasing stroke down one side of the little nub and up the other, making Tharja clench onto Robin's shoulders with trembling fingers.  
  
"Didn't-- you d-didn't choose him... haa... tonight, did you?"  
  
Robin curled her middle finger over Tharja's slick clit, letting her fingernail scratch as she swept up the hood and dug into the underside of the witch's mons pubis. A noise somewhere between a strangled moan and a yelp left the Plegian's lips and she buried her face against Robin's neck, keening and whining. Mercifully returning to the sharp, quick flicks of her fore- and middle-finger, Robin turned to whisper in Tharja's ear.  
  
"Then I guess I'd better make you cum hard enough that you don't come sneaking back in here again. Or is it that I should stop..." True to her word, Robin pulled her fingers from the Plegian's folds. "So you know you'll never find satisfaction here and stay out of my tent?"  
  
"If you don't finish what you started," a harsh bite of Plegian teeth answered the teasing display, "I'll hex you so you can never orgasm from your precious Exalt's touch again. You'll only ever find pleasure with me and you'll be all mine."  
  
The Ylissean twisted free fingers in Tharja's hair, yanking her head back and away from Robin's neck. All the same, she buried her fingers in the thickest part of the other woman's slit and began to work the abused sex again.  
  
"You underestimate a genius Tactician's resolve. I would happily fake orgasms with Chrom for the rest of my days over submitting to your arrogant, obsessive need for control. _Someone_ needs to remind you of your _place_ here."  
  
The hand still grasping at long black tresses pulled a second time, forcing Tharja back, back, further back until she had to support herself on her twisted palms, then her elbows. The muscles of the Plegian's lower back cried in protest of being so positioned, but Robin's grip on her hair, now the only thing that supported the Tactician's weight, would not allow her to ease back up. With her fisted fingers pressed into the mattress, Robin leaned between Tharja's thighs, forcing them further apart as she buried the quick-working fingers into the other woman's drooling sex. The Plegian saw stars as her paramour filled her with two rough digits from her sword hand, displaying neither tenderness nor caution in her act. If her head wasn't already pressed painfully against the mattress, the witch would throw it back at the ecstasy of being stretched by her fated one.  
  
"Look at you, Tharja, bending over backwards just to get your fill of me. You know I don't love you. You know I'm only using you to get off because I can't seem to sleep and taking advantage of you has gotten me there faster than anything I could manage on my own. But still you spread your thighs for me, open up to my rough entry. If you weren't nine-tenths of the way to hell already, you'd only be begging me for more. And why is that, Tharja? Can you tell me?"  
  
"Because I'm-- Robin, I'm-- ahh _hhh_!"  
  
Mimicking Tharja's earlier example, Robin bent and stretched her thumb out to swirl along the abandoned clit that felt like it had doubled in size since she had started talking down to the pliant witch. She couldn't place what exactly was fueling these dark, twisted words to come out of her mouth (she'd _never_ spoken to Chrom like this before), but she would be lying if she said her core wasn't already soaking her inner thighs again. Leaning down to sink her teeth into one soft, yielding breast, Robin drank in the sounds of Tharja's cries and pleas-- pleas for _more_ and of _Robin_ , **_yes_**! and unintelligible noises that made Robin's water.  
  
"You're _what_ , Tharja? Tell me. _Say it_. Isn't that what you told me earlier? What was it again? _I can't **help** **you** if you don't **say it**_."  
  
"Y-yours! Robin. Robin, my _love_. My fated one. My perfect, perfect love, _please_! I'm all _yours_. _Only_ **_yours_**. Everythi-- everything I am belongs to you, I swear it."  
  
A ragged exhale left the Tactician like she'd been holding her breath. She'd never heard such words of desperate fealty, an undying pledge rivaled only by the marriage vows she had taken with Chrom. Under normal circumstances, the swell of pride and gloating self-righteousness might have concerned her (particularly given the dark revelations of these past few weeks), but at that moment, she was only drunk on the sounds of Tharja's voice and the sight of the Plegian bent to her design. Tightening her grip on the witch's hair, Robin returned her teeth to the abused and purpling nipple while her hands worked to make the other woman scream. When the thrusting of the mage's hips turned sloppy and uneven, and the muscles which yielded to her forceful thrusting began to clench, the Tactician released the flesh from her mouth and tilted Tharja's head back up just enough to meet her gaze.  
  
"That's right, Tharja. **_Mine_**. Now _cum for me_ and try not to wake the rest of the Shepherds."  



End file.
